Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off， till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor， and the children’s faces grew rosier， and they laughed and played games in the street. “We have bread now！” they cried.
Then the snow came， and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver， they were so bright and glistening； long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses， everybody went about in furs， and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.
The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder， but he would not leave the Prince； he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker’s door when the baker was not looking， and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.
But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more. “Good-bye， dear Prince！” he murmured. “Will you let me kiss your hand？”
“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “you have stayed too long here； but you must kiss me on the lips， for I love you.”
“It is not to Egypt that I am going，” said the Swallow. “I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep， is he not？”
And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips， and fell down dead at his feet.
At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.
Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the colurnn he looked up at the statue. “Dear me！ how shabby the Happy Prince looks！” he said.
“How shabby indeed！” cried the Town Councillors， who always agreed with the Mayor， and they went up to look at it.
“The ruby has fallen out of his sword， his eyes are gone， and he is golden no longer，” said the Mayor； “in fact， he is little better than a beggar！”
“Little better than a beggar，” said the Town Councillors.
“And here is actually a dead bird at his feet！ ” continued the Mayor. “We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here.” And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.
So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. “As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful，” said the Art Professor at the University.
Then they melted the statue in a furnace， and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. “We must have another statue， of course，” he said， “and it shall be a statue of myself.”
“Of course，” said each of the Town Councillors， and they quarrelled When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.
“What a strange thing！” said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. “This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.” So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.
“Bring me the two most precious things in the city，” said God to one of His angels； and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.
“You have rightly chosen，” said God， “for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing forevermore， and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me.”
8
The Adventure of Tom Sawyer
汤姆·索亚历险记（节选）
TUESDAY afternoon came， and waned to the twilight. Tim village of St. Petersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found. Public prayers had been offered up for them， and many and many a private prayer that had the petitioner’s whole heart in it； but still no good news came from the cave. The majority of the searchers had given up the quest and gone back to their daily avocations， saying that it was plain the children could never be found. Mrs. Thatcher was very ill， and a great part of the time delirious. People said it was heartbreaking to hear her call her child， and raise her head and listen a whole minute at a time， then lay it wearily down again with a moan. Aunt Polly had drooped into a settled melancholy， and her gray hair had grown almost white. The village went to its rest on Tuesday night， sad and forlorn.
Away in the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village bells，and in a moment the streets were swarming with frantic half-clad people， who shouted， “Turn out！turn out！ they’re found！ they’re found！” Tin pans and horns were added to the din， the population massed itself and moved toward the river， met the children coming in an open carriage drawn by shouting citizens， thronged around it， joined its homeward march， and swept magnificently up the main street roaring huzzah after huzzah！
The village was illuminated； nobody went to bed again； it was the greatest night the little town had ever seen. During the first half-hour a procession of villagers filed through judge Thatcher’s house， seized the saved ones and kissed them， squeezed Mrs. Thatcher’s hand， tried to speak but couldn’t—and raining tears all over the place.
Aunt Polly’s happiness was complete， and Mrs. Thatcher’s： nearly so. It would be complete， however， as soon as the messenger dispatched with the great news to the cave should get the word to her husband. Tom lay upon a sofa with an eager auditory about him and told the history of the wonderful adventure， putting in many striking additions to adorn it withal； and closed with a description of how he left Becky and went on an exploring expedition； how he followed two avenues as far as his kite-line would reach； how he followed a third to the fullest stretch of the kite-line， and was about to turn back when he glimpsed a far-off speck that looked like daylight； dropped the line and groped toward it， pushed his head and shoulders through a small hole， and saw the broad Mississippi rolling by！
